


A Study In Cobalt

by bouquets



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Communication, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, No Smut, Slow Burn, friends to slightly more than friends, revising a smutty fanfic about yourself and your best friend WITH said best friend, this eventually becomes them laughing at synonyms for penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouquets/pseuds/bouquets
Summary: “…So they're having you re-write our sex scene.”"Unfortunately."





	A Study In Cobalt

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Some colorful words and mature topics, but no actual smut here! Also, can we address how the tag system for basically any Sherlock Holmes character is super messy?

 

“I only had a hand in my stepfather’s second book, but I _guess_ I should appreciate that this one _doesn't_ start with us going at it right off the bat?” Joan asked Sherlock, skimming “Grover Ogden’s” new installment of the _Bled Blue_ series over Sherlock’s shoulder. She was grasping at straws trying not to be flat-out disgusted.

“Not right off the bat, no. Although it appears a brutal murder takes place at the exact time we apparently have intercourse in the _second_ chapter, if that's what you're interested in,” Sherlock quipped, a lopsided grin across his face.

“Eugh,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. She took her place next to him on the couch, leaning closer than usual so she could continue to read out of morbid curiosity. “I don't know what I did to deserve this.”

“ _A Study in Cobalt_ ,” Sherlock said with a flourish, waving his arm wildly. “Far cry from my preferred type reading, but it does make for a good laugh. I suppose I can appreciate the awfully obvious blue motif.”

“You strike me more as a red kinda guy,” Joan noted offhandedly, thinking about his favorite scarf.

“Appreciated, but perhaps Jonathan Michaels described here isn't,” he pointed out, tapping his finger on the open page.

The elder Watson’s new series proved to have taken off quite well, whether its real-life versions liked it or not. Sherlock, on one hand, indulged the series as an amusing distraction, while Joan begrudgingly accepted its existence.

She leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, then sat up, studying his reaction. Sherlock held some restless fascination with whatever garbage he was reading, yet it was obvious he wasn’t enjoying it. Joan tried to consider all the possibilities regarding why her partner was trying to extrapolate information that was, quite honestly, pulled out of her somewhat estranged stepfather’s ass.

“At the rate these characters get it on, I'm worried he might really think I actually sleep with you on the daily,” Joan said, attempting to divert her attention from reading every detail about her fictional counterpart’s theoretical sex life.

“You would have to argue quality over quantity, though. I would like to think that we're both more experienced lovers than as described, although I suppose conveying such sentiment shouldn't be too difficult.”

“What?” was all Joan could manage, her temper flaring and making her face burn. If looks could kill, the NYPD would have very quickly lost its most favored consulting detective.

“Sherlock, are you—”

“No, no. Don't jump to any hasty conclusions, Watson,” Sherlock was quick to clarify in a cocky tone. He held her shoulder in an attempt to preemptively diffuse the situation. “Or rather, I _could_ call you Miss Li and dredge up even more questions,” he added cheekily.

“Why are we putting ourselves through this again?” Her teeth were gritted and her glare grew even more intense. “I can’t seem to remember why we’re not doing _anything_ besides this.” She placed her hand on top of his and squeezed far too tightly, which she knew only Sherlock would interpret as a sign of how frustrated she was with him.

“Ah, uh, Watson, do you recall last week when we needed information on that D-list excuse of a celebrity?” he stammered, attempting to clarify his thought process.

“Sure.” Joan began to consider how much a prompt strike to the face would solve, or where she last left the baton.

“In return, our friendly acquaintances of Everyone have pit me against myself… essentially. Granted, a less fundamentally developed, often sex-driven version of myself.”

“Explain,” Joan sighed, trying to keep her voice level.

 

* * *

 

“So they're having you re-write our sex scene.”

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock responded while avoiding eye contact, absently staring at the paint splotches that ended up on the ceiling at some point. Now was not the time to wonder how Clyde’s talents were so far reaching. Sherlock’s detachment from the norms of societal standards failed do him any favors here, considering he didn’t recognize how the book series wouldn’t fall in Joan’s favor. What he took to be flattery, she saw as excessively distasteful. Explaining that you had to re-write a raunchy encounter between you and the closest person to you—originally written by said person’s father—was all kinds of fucked up. It wasn’t until he talked about it out loud did he actually see how uncomfortable she was, and when he did, his words faltered.

“You do know you are free to go about how you please and pretend this never happened,” he begins, followed by a pregnant silence. “I wouldn't blame you,” Sherlock blurted out. “I can also negotiate with Everyone and figure out some macabre punishment more focused on making me the dunce, if you'd like. Everyone isn't exactly the most socially aware bunch, and I’d wager they failed to realize that the parallels between us and these characters aren't mere coincidence. I assumed they picked a book off the best-seller’s list that boasted about its erotic antics.”

“Sherlock…” Joan’s voice was softer now. She couldn't believe he hadn't initially understood what an embarrassing mess they found themselves in, but, at the same time, it was just like him to do so. Actually being able to articulate what frightened her helped clear her mind; the perception of who this Lucy Li character was and what she represented was wholly inappropriate for any father figure to view a daughter.

“I apologize for being inconsiderate, Watson,” Sherlock replied. His eyes were still transfixed to the ceiling. When Sherlock apologized so bluntly, it was obvious he was serious.

“C’mon. You've already sang ‘Let It Go’ in a prom dress, so let’s get this behind us,” she offered, pulling up a blank word document on her laptop. “Together.”

“Are you alright with that?” asked Sherlock, trying to gauge if she was just being polite or not. His words sounded uncharacteristically delicate. Understandable, considering his recent change of heart. He was feeling wrenched raw with embarrassment from his oversight. She smiled, knowing that this Sherlock was not the brash Jonathan Michaels featured in the novel. He was, first and foremost, the one she cared most about.

“I am more than sure. We can right some wrongs of this… travesty. And hey, maybe we’ll learn something about each other on the way.”

 

* * *

 

There was no reason for Sherlock and Joan to be as thorough as they were. Granted, decent grammar and diction seemed to be sparse at times, but rewriting such a literary nightmare did not call for efforts worthy of a Pulitzer Prize.

“This is definitely not the correct use of the word consummate,” Sherlock groaned. “I say we forego using it entirely.”

“Agreed,” Joan said with a nod, deleting paragraphs at a time.

“I'm still wondering why anyone in their right mind would use the word ‘member’ to refer to a penis,” said Joan.

“I'd prefer it to something as juvenile as meat stick.”

“Sherlock.”

“Excalibur.”

“Sherlock, no,” Joan pleaded. She chuckled, betraying the disgust she showed as her eyebrows knit together.

“Custard launcher.”

“Alright, remind me not to eat any danishes you make for breakfast for the next week,” she huffed in an exaggerated display of annoyance.

“That's a shame, Clyde is on a diet from consuming any scraps containing bodily fluids until next month.”

 

* * *

 

Whichever way the couple was positioned during a moment of passion never really seemed to stay consistent in the novel, which irritated the detail-oriented Sherlock to no end. Every so often, he would have Joan dictate a passage while he attempted to recreate it, cradling the singlestick dummy where a passionate lover would be in the situation. After taking a handful of blackmail-worthy snapshots with her phone, Joan laughed. For the first time in a long time, she recognized that she felt warm. Comfortable. Here was Sherlock, on a ridiculous endeavor to effectively recreate this twisted version of their reality where they had sex that pleased the voyeuristic and apprehended criminals with a tawdry representation of martial arts. Yet, she was inexplicably pleased.

“I've had the misfortune of reading large chunks of this series—as well as essentially forcing you to—but I honestly can't retain any information from it,” Sherlock admitted. He scratched his head, skimming the revised raunchy scene he and Joan wrote together. “Not that I'm complaining. It's just bizarre that the prospect of me sleeping with you _theoretically_ is making my thought process this hazy. Oh, may I?” He interrupted his own thought by reaching out to Joan, hesitating.

She nodded, and he gently held her hand and leaned over her, maintaining a respectful distance while, ironically, double-checking if the sex position described was actually feasible. Perhaps with any other human being this would be intimate, but with Sherlock, it wasn't the weirdest thing that could have happened.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you have a crush on me, Sherlock,” added Joan, with her own touch of cheekiness. She wasn't entirely sure if she was being serious.

“Perhaps, but it does finally appear that Jonathan Michaels is head over heels for his lovely partner Lucy Li, maintaining a consensual relationship that does not involve spine-splitting sex,” he retorted, satisfied with what he would jokingly call their magnum opus. Sherlock let go of her hand, which he was still holding for no practical reason. He saved the file and uploaded it to the anonymous Everyone board, shaking his head. The next thing on his to-do list was to require that Mr. Watson either make amends or step away from his daughter’s life, but that could be saved for another time.

He reached an arm around Joan, whose eyes were growing heavy. Staying on the couch and turning in for the night didn't seem like a bad idea. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice how close they ended up, and she doubted either of them minded much.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I do NOT mean to suggest Jonny Lee Miller and Lucy Liu are doing the nasty, ESPECIALLY given that they both have lovely families!! I just thought it'd be clever if their fictional counterparts had names that resembled the names of their respective actors. So meta.


End file.
